


not inclined to resign to maturity

by ariadne83, lotts (LottieAnna), somehowunbroken



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Audio Format: MP3, M/M, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 1-1.5 Hours, Sports-related homophobia, psych au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-05 16:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne83/pseuds/ariadne83, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: When the Stanley Cup goes missing, Mitch and Dylan are put on the case. Nathan MacKinnon and Jonathan Drouin are horrified that they managed to lose it. Dylan is torn between thrilled that he gets to meet hockey players and upset that he has to meet hockey players. Mitch is just glad that his whole fake-psychic thing means he gets to pretend to interview dogs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a psych au! in which mitch is shawn, dylan is gus, and dogs are interviewed. thanks to s. for reading this through for us.
> 
> huge thanks to lotts, who looked at this summary and was stoked to podfic it. please listen to the podfic version, and let them know what an absolutely incredible job they did, because it's completely true.

Mitch's job is kind of weird by nature, but even he's a little weirded out when he and Dylan suddenly get called into Connor and Taylor's office, where the blinds have been drawn tightly shut for almost an hour and nobody has gone in or out.

"You guys have to swear not to tell anyone," Connor says before they can take a seat.

"Not even Mikey," Taylor adds, looking pointedly at Dylan.

"I'm the one you think is gonna leak things?" Dylan asks, slouching a little in his chair. "Out of the two of us, you focus on me?"

Taylor raises an eyebrow. "Which one of you leaked the John Tavares trade before it was official?"

"Mitch," Dylan says immediately. "He leaked it to me, and I can't be held responsible for what happened after that. Besides, I have never once leaked anything police-related, and you know it."

Connor plants his hands on the desk, trying to look like Future Captain Material. Mitch knows for a fact he practices that face in the mirror. "I know what you're like about hockey, and this involves the Stanley Cup."

Dylan loses every ounce of fake chill in a heartbeat as he leans forward. "What? What happened to the Cup?"

"MacKinnon lost it," Mitch tells him, studying Connor's face. "And he doesn't want to break Tyson Barrie's heart, so he can't announce it." Mitch follows the Cup keepers on Twitter; he knows exactly where the Cup is supposed to be this summer.

Taylor sighs. "God forbid we ever need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement before we tell you something," she says. "Nobody warned us about psychics at the Academy."

Connor sighs too. "He's not psychic, he's just too lazy to go to the Academy himself."

Mitch snorts. "I'm getting a vision. It looks like... paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork."

Taylor narrows her eyes at Connor. "If he's not psychic, then how did he know exactly what we called him in here to tell him?"

"You've spent too much time around superstitious French-Canadians," Connor replies. "The Cup schedule is posted online, Taylor."

"Hey, that's enough flirting," Mitch cuts in. "She has a girlfriend, Davo."

Connor rolls his eyes so hard Mitch is surprised it doesn't hurt him. "Trust me, I know."

Mitch never gets tired of giving Connor shit. It has absolutely nothing to do with that one summer Dylan was convinced he was in love with the guy.

"Anyway," Dylan says loudly. "MacKinnon lost the Cup? Freaking how? Doesn't it have its own handlers?"

Taylor smirks. "Have you seen MacKinnon? He's built like a truck but he acts like a puppy. Even Sid can't say no to that face."

Mitch really doubts that either of the other two see the way Dylan tenses slightly when Taylor mentions _Sid_ , the way his fingers go a little tight on the arms of his chair. He'll never outright ask Taylor if she can get her famous brother's autograph for him, but Mitch has known Dylan for a long time now.

"Tell your brother we won't let his favourite protege be thrown under the bus," Mitch tells her.

Taylor folds her arms and turns to Connor. "See? He knew Sid called us in."

"You literally just mentioned Sid," Connor sighs. "It's not that hard to put two and two together."

Mitch looks over at Connor; he has dog hair on the cuff of his jacket. "Sophie failed out of dog training, huh? Ryan must be devastated. But you're all over making him feel better because—"

"Okay, fine, you're a psychic," Connor cuts in, glaring at Mitch with his lying liar's eyes.

Mitch smiles sweetly before turning to Taylor. "Can you lay the details out for us?"

"NDA first." Taylor pulls out a stack of paperwork and thumps it on the desk.

Connor smirks at Mitch. "Hey look, your prediction came true!"

"Paperwork," Mitch sighs. "It's always paperwork."

Dylan punches him in the arm. "This is all your fault."

"Nah, let's blame MacKinnon for losing the Cup," Mitch says, grabbing a pen. He doesn't rub at where Dylan punched him until Dylan looks away; there's no reason to give him the satisfaction.

"You can't tell anyone," Connor repeats when they're done signing over their freedom of speech. "MacKinnon lost the Cup because he just got engaged, and they went a little overboard celebrating."

Dylan frowns. "Why is that such a big deal?"

Taylor's brow creases a little and she glances quickly at the photo of Sid and his "really good friend" Jack Johnson on her desk, and Mitch feels his own eyes go wide. "Because it's a guy," he says, watching as Taylor's gaze snaps to him. "MacKinnon's not out, though, so it's... actually a huge deal."

"Oh," Dylan says, and it's breathy like someone punched him in the stomach. There's a reason Dylan's brothers still play hockey but he doesn't.

Mitch doesn't look over at Dylan; that's not his secret to give away, even if Dylan isn't being especially subtle. "So MacKinnon snuck the Cup out of the party so he and his new fiance could have some alone time with it," he says. "And then they... lost it."

"We need to find it, quietly," Taylor says. "Preferably without anyone getting outed."

"Or Tyson Barrie figuring it out," Mitch adds. "He's supposed to get it next, so if it's still missing by Saturday, we've got a problem."

Connor nods. "Barrie has a huge public celebration planned. Some three-way thing with Kerfoot and Hammond."

Mitch bites his lip and casts a glance at Dylan.

"Don't say it," Dylan warns.

Mitch just nods; he doesn't need to say it out loud, not with how Taylor and Connor are giving each other the same are-you-kidding-me look. Mission accomplished. It's like reverse-fake-psychic-ing them or something.

"Just find the Cup. And don't tell me they dropped it in the North Atlantic," Connor pleads.

"I can't tell you anything until we meet with MacKinnon," Mitch says. "When is he coming in?"

Connor and Taylor look at each other. "He's not," Taylor finally says. "It's hush-hush, and technically we're not involved. He's hiring you two as private investigators, and he'll fly you wherever you need."

Mitch's eyes light up; Dylan slouches even lower in his chair. "Oh my god," Mitch exclaims. "Road trip!"

-0-

Dylan thinks his earplugs will save him on the flight to Halifax. Dylan is very wrong, because Mitch knows sign language. Mitch also knows that Dylan knows sign language, because they took it together in year ten so they didn't have to sit through another year of French. Mitch makes sure that they're facing each other so nobody can follow along, and then they argue about the case for five whole minutes without breaking the NDA. It's a pretty awesome loophole, if Mitch says so himself.

The conversation stops when Dylan gives him the finger, which Mitch guesses still technically counts as sign, and closes his eyes. He doesn't respond when Mitch pokes him, and Mitch doesn't actually need to needle him right now, so he sits back in his own seat to mull over what they know so far.

The Cup spent some quality time in Montreal with MacKinnon's teammates first, and that's where the super secret engagement happened. Mitch is reasonably sure that the fiance's not a teammate; he'd spent some time between the meeting this morning and their flight looking at footage from the Avalanche social media accounts, and MacKinnon's chemistry with all of his French-speaking teammates was all the on-ice kind. He'd had much better luck looking into the past, but he's gonna wait until he sees MacKinnon and Jo Drouin together before he says anything.

He pulls up the Cup keepers' Twitter account and traces their trip through Quebec and down to Cole Harbour. The Cup definitely wasn't missing when MacKinnon had a parade. The Twitter goes mysteriously silent around nine the previous night, though, and Mitch figures that's when things started happening.

His mind wanders a little, trying to see if there are any details he missed while Connor and Taylor were talking earlier. He's pretty good at reading Taylor by this point, but he's known Connor for years, so it's easier to get stuff from him. Annoyance, mostly, but that's at least 30% because Connor wanted Mitch to be his wingman at the Academy. He's the only person on the police force who knows that Mitch is, to quote, "super observant and way too fucking charming" and not an actual psychic, but that's not for lack of Connor trying.

Connor turned an amazing shade of purple last Halloween, when Mitch showed up dressed as Criss Angel. He's a lot of fun, and one of Mitch's closest friends, even if they annoy the shit out of each other more often than not.

He was Mitch's in at the police station, too; he'd been trying to talk his way through a case after work about six months ago, and Mitch had taken one look at the crime scene photos Connor hadn't meant to leave out and connected all the dots. Connor had said it was "like you're freaking psychic or something," and, well, the rest is history.

Dylan pokes Mitch in the ribs, jolting him out of his thoughts. "Are you done communing with the spirit world? Because I need you to help me get ready just in case I have to talk to Crosby and sound like a human."

"There's nothing I can do to help you," Mitch says solemnly. "You're doomed to sound like a squeaky robot whose command of English is super bad. Sorry, man."

Dylan crosses his arms. "I knew I should've stayed in Toronto."

Mitch bats his eyelashes at him. "But road trip," he singsongs.

"I hate you," Dylan singsongs back.

Mitch grabs him in a headlock. He's distracted by someone coughing in the aisle. "We're getting ready to land," the flight attendant says, giving them a practiced smile. "We need everyone in their own seats, please."

"No problem!" Mitch gives her a sunny smile, and kisses Dylan on the cheek. Dylan sighs, too used to Mitch to protest it, probably, but when the flight attendant walks away he pinches the inside of Mitch's arm.

"Don't forget me when you're Mrs. Crosby, living in that ugly house in Pittsburgh," Mitch says, batting his eyelashes.

"As if," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. "I'll definitely make him sell it and buy something less tacky. What do you take me for?"

"A dude who eats burnt toast every day because it looks like Wayne Gretzky's face."

"I'm still sad they were sold out of the Toews-ter," Dylan says, sighing. "I wanted it just because the man who doesn't eat bread did a toaster partnership. What an icon."

Mitch pats his hand. "I'm impressed by your restraint, Dyls. Even you can't eat Crosby's face every day."

Dylan waggles his eyebrows. "As if it's his _face_ I'm interested in eating."

Mitch breaks into _Baby Got Back_ , and Dylan tries to smother him with some tiny little moist towelettes.

The landing is smooth, even if Mitch does smell faintly like fake citrus by the time they touch down. He slings an arm around Dylan's shoulders. "Just be cool, and one day your prince will come."

"I'm not gonna say it," Dylan says, leaning into him, "but please know I'm thinking the really obvious joke here."

"I would expect nothing less." Mitch is totally going to blame the fresh airport air for the fact that he can't stop smiling.

He scans the people waiting in Arrivals; there's no big banner with their names on it or anything, but Mitch is pretty sure the guy with the huge sunglasses and cap pulled down over his face is their ride. He nudges Dylan. "Blue Jays cap at your three o'clock. Is that Jo Drouin?"

Dylan narrows his eyes. "Maybe. Is he wearing a Toronto hat for us?"

"Better question, is that lump under the front of his shirt an engagement ring on a necklace?" Mitch counters. "I'll go make first contact. You find our bags."

"I'm not your valet," Dylan complains, but he heads off to get the bags anyway.

Mitch watches him go; Dylan's the non-NHL Strome, but he still plays with his brothers and in a beer league, and it shows. He shakes himself after a careful three-count and turns to walk over to Mr. Hidden Face.

"Jo?" Mitch asks, holding out his hand. "I'm gay. I mean Mitch."

Mitch can see the eyebrows raising from behind the sunglasses. "Okay," he says, his voice slightly accented. "It's... nice to meet you?"

"You're here to pick us up," Mitch says confidently. "My partner and I are here to help with your... missing thing." He taps his chest, right over where the lump is sitting on Jo's chest. "Congratulations, by the way."

Jo takes off his sunglasses and stares at Mitch. "I heard you were good, but I thought Fuchs was full of shit."

Mitch doesn't have context for the name, so he just smiles wider. "I'm the best at what I do." It's not even a lie.

"I still don't understand why you had to pack every pair of short shorts you own," Dylan complains as he comes over to join them.

"You never know when you'll need things," Mitch says, grabbing his bag from Dylan. "Dyls, this is Jo Drouin. Jo, this is Dylan, my partner."

Jo snorts. "Howdy, partner. Ready to get on the road?"

"Let's go," Dylan says, nodding, and they head for the exit.

-0-

Dylan’s quiet on the half-hour drive to Cole Harbour. He gets that way around athletes, sometimes, and Mitch hates it, so he copes by bullying Dylan into playing I Spy.

Dylan gets stumped by something-beginning-with-Y, and when Mitch admits the answer is “yet another lake” Dylan reaches over and facewashes him.

Jo cracks up laughing and warns Dylan about going up against a psychic in a guessing game. Dylan’s frustrated, wordless yelling is better than sad, quiet Dylan by a mile.

"We're almost there," Jo promises when Dylan spies A-is-for-asshole. "Nathan got you guys a room, because it was either that or stay at his mother's house, and she doesn't know he lost the Cup. We'd like to keep it that way, if possible."

Mitch turns to Dylan and mouths "Nathan," and then he makes a heart with his hands.

Dylan rolls his eyes at Mitch. "If it's okay with you, we'd rather meet with everyone first," he says. "We'd like to get all the details and impressions we can while things are still fresh in everyone's minds."

"Sid had to leave for Vail," Jo says.

Mitch reaches out and squeezes Dylan's hand.

"But if you really need to talk to him, I'm sure we can make arrangements somehow," Jo adds.

Dylan squeezes back way harder than Mitch did.

Mitch's knuckles ache, and so does his chest for some reason. But a tiny, selfish part of him is glad Crosby isn't here to make Dylan's crush worse.

"Okay," he says aloud instead of letting any of that spill out. "We'll talk to you and Nate and the Cup keeper, and we'll see if there are any other witnesses that we can drum up. We can figure it out from there."

Dylan clings to him until the car stops, and when he finally lets go Mitch feels like a fraud for the first time in years. He's going to find the Stanley Cup, duh, but how is he supposed to keep his feelings safely tucked away?

That's a problem for Later Mitch, though, because that whole "finding the Stanley Cup" thing is going to come first.

"Okay," Mitch says to Jo, pasting on a bright smile. "Take us to your future husband."

Jo smiles brightly for a second, but it dims quickly. "Uh, about that," he says. "We've only told a few people so far, so if you could keep it quiet..."

"Don't worry, we signed an NDA," Dylan replies.

"Right," Jo says, nodding a little. "It's just... it's important to check. Pro athlete and all."

Dylan winces a little but manages to turn it into a mostly-convincing smile, and he holds his hand out for Jo when they get out of the car. "So I'm Dylan _Strome_ ," he says. "Yes, that kind of Strome. I get it."

Jo shakes Dylan's hand, and Mitch finds somewhere else to look. There are way too many feelings floating around unattached. Jo says something too quiet for Mitch to hear, and Dylan glances at Mitch. He pretends to not be paying attention and hopes that's enough for Jo to buy him not knowing whatever it is psychically.

Jo unlocks the gate with his own key instead of using the buzzer, and Mitch files that away under "definitely not an impulsive engagement." They're greeted inside by two dogs, and a moment later, Nathan MacKinnon comes walking out of the house. "Hey! You're Taylor's friends?"

"She calls him a constant pain in the ass," Dylan jokes, "but close enough."

"That means she likes you," Nate says, turning to smile at Mitch. "She says the same thing about me."

Jo hits Nate in the shoulder. "Taylor only says that because you do things like forgetting to invite her to a Stanley Cup parade in her hometown."

Mitch looks at Nate with a little awe. "She definitely likes you better," he says. "She'd kill me for that."

"She wouldn't have let us lose the Cup," Jo adds.

"Very, very true," Mitch says. "Also, about that. Let's talk."

They all go sit in the living room, and Nate and Jo try to piece together their night. Jo blushes when Mitch asks if they took any private photos. "They should have location data," Mitch adds.

"Can't you just," Jo says, waving his hand vaguely. "Psychic?"

Mitch shrugs. "All the different waterways mess with my vibes."

"And I'm not psychic at all," Dylan adds. "I just have a regular person brain, so if I'm gonna be any help, I need it explained the old-fashioned way."

Nate sighs, unlocks his phone, and hands it over. "Just remember Taylor knows where you live, and she likes me."

"Three months ago, we investigated a case that involved literally thousands of photographs of a woman posing with those creepy porcelain dolls," Mitch says, taking the phone. "Trust me when I say nothing in here is gonna be weird or bad to us."

Jo takes Nate's hand. "Also, this guy forgot his own name and introduced himself as gay, so Taylor was right. As usual."

Dylan inhales kind of sharply beside Mitch, but Mitch ignores him and starts swiping through the photos.

"Backyard, beach, golf course..." Mitch mutters. "Wait, where's this? You took twelve pictures of the same restaurant."

"Oh," Nate says, leaning over to see it. "We, uh. We went for midnight sushi?"

Jo's blushing, so there's definitely a story there.

"You were distracted," Mitch says. "It was the first time all day that the two of you got to be alone."

"Phil—uh, the Cup guy," Nate says. "He went to sleep, and we had the Cup in the backyard with us, and I don't remember bringing it in before we called the Uber to take us to the sushi place. And then when we came back, we figured Phil grabbed it and brought it in, but then this morning..."

Mitch takes an educated guess about what a young couple were up to first thing in the morning. "You were planning to get up late after spending some quality time together, but Phil knocked on your door. He asked if you had the Cup in the room with you, and Jo fell out of bed."

Jo's been the one blushing since they got here, and not much embarrasses an athlete more than people finding out he has a clumsy streak. Nudity? Pfft. Tripping over your own feet? End of the world.

"Oh my god," Jo says, putting his hands over his forehead as if that would stop an actual psychic, let alone a fake bullshitty one like Mitch. "Please don't look at—that."

"I'm not looking," Mitch says, holding his hands up. "You're doing the psychic equivalent of yelling, though. I didn't actually see anything, if that's what you're worried about."

"At least you have someone to help take care of your bruised ass," Dylan chimes in.

Jo turns to him, eyes wide. "I thought you were the normal one!"

"I am," Dylan says cheerily. "Let that sink in a little."

Mitch taps his foot on the hardwood floor, which is blessedly free of dog hair thanks to the Roomba he spotted in the corner. "I think it's time for me to check the vibes in your backyard."

-0-

They spend a couple of hours looking around in the backyard, talking more to Nate and Jo, and finally getting to talk to Phil, the Cup keeper, before deciding to call it a night and head to the hotel. Or, actually, the bed and breakfast; as it turns out, there are no actual hotels in Cole Harbour. The woman who runs the B & B is too adorable for words. Apparently she converted her family home after her daughter met her wife and finally moved out.

"I pride myself on being a good ally," she says, beaming at them. "And I know 'pride' isn't a word used lightly. If you boys need anything, you just let me know."

Mitch smiles politely and ignores Dylan's sky-high eyebrows. "Thank you, ma'am, we sure will let you know," he says, trying his best not to imagine what's waiting for them upstairs. "Breakfast until 9, you said? We'll see you in the morning!" He grabs Dylan's arm and drags him away before either of them can break.

"Dude," Dylan says once they're upstairs. "She _definitely_ thought we were, like. Y'know."

Mitch opens the bedroom door. There are rose petals all over the bed and chocolates on the pillows. "You think?"

"Uh," Dylan says from behind Mitch. "There's only one bed."

"I think my powers of observation are rubbing off on you," Mitch replies, turning around so Dylan can see him waggle his eyebrows.

"She thinks _I'm_ rubbing off on you," Dylan hisses. "Oh my god, we have to tell her. She's gonna be mortified. Or disappointed."

"Or both," Mitch says helpfully.

Dylan grimaces. "She seems nice, though. What if she makes a sad face?"

"She might," Mitch says. Dylan is extremely weak to sad faces. He once dated a guy for six months because he was scared of making him cry. "Look, we could just... share. It's a king bed, and we're gonna be here, what, two nights? Three tops?" 

If Mitch has to sacrifice his personal space and three days of sanity, it's a risk he's willing to take.

"I guess," Dylan says, sighing. "I'm drawing the line at the rose petals, though. Those have to go."

Mitch drops his bag, goes over to the bed, and scoops up a handful. "Heads up," he warns, before flinging them at Dylan so they'll rain down on his curls. Dylan gives Mitch a flat look but doesn't move, so they actually do rain down and stick in his hair. That was maybe a mistake, Mitch reflects, but he's committed to it now, so he flings another handful.

Even with his unimpressed face, Dylan ends up looking adorable. Mitch gets out his phone and snaps a picture before Dylan lunges at him.

"Be gentle with me!" Mitch yells.

Dylan snorts. "Is that really what you want?" he asks, right in Mitch's ear.

Before Mitch has the chance to reply, or even really to process it, Dylan is tickling him mercilessly like an actual twelve-year-old. Mitch is going to die. This case is going to kill him, and he won't get to see the Leafs win another Cup. The bed squeaks when Mitch falls onto it, trying to get away from his tormentor, and he sincerely hopes the nice lady downstairs has ear plugs.

"Stop," he wheezes, whacking at Dylan's shoulder. "Case! Stanley Cup!"

Dylan throws his fists up in the air. "I win!"

"Congratulations," Mitch says, patting Dylan's thigh as he tries to catch his breath. It's a nice thigh and Mitch has to stop himself from, like, petting it. Everything to this point in his life has been a mistake, probably, or he wouldn't be in this situation right now. He must've done something wrong in a previous life to end up catching feelings for a guy who falls in love with anyone who's nice to him but is somehow immune to Mitch's considerable charm. It's his curse to bear, but wow, does Mitch wish that Dylan wouldn't do things like tickle-fight him in a bed they're gonna have to share soon and then roll to the side but immediately cuddle up to him.

"So," Dylan says, brushing rose petals out of his hair. "Have the spirits given you any leads? Or did you just figure out that the people in MacKinnon's backyard were drinking a lot of spirits?"

"We've got a solid timeline, which is a good start," Mitch says, pulling himself up so he can sit against the headboard. "The Cup was in the backyard, in full view of everyone there, until Jo and Nate left for midnight sushi. Or, like, 10:30 PM sushi, which is close enough. Who eats raw fish that late at night?"

Dylan grins so wide it looks like it hurts. "I can't believe I figured out something you didn't!" He wriggles on his side, which Mitch refuses to have Thoughts about, and gets out his phone.

" _Mooseheads stars pass chemistry test_ ," Mitch reads out loud. "What is this? I know they played together."

"Sushi is their _thing_ ," Dylan says gleefully. He takes his phone back and scrolls down.

Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves at Dylan's side. "I meant, doesn't eating sushi that late at night fuck with your digestion? I figured out it was a date all on my own, thanks."

"It was their Valentine's Day thing two years in a row, Mitch. Some things are more important than digestion."

"That's... gross," Mitch says. "Digestion should always be a consideration. There's nothing sexy about stomach aches."

Dylan facewashes him. "If you dated someone for more than a week you'd get it."

Mitch has to bite his tongue so he won't point out that his potential relationships usually die right around the time he introduces them to Dylan. Instead, he rolls his eyes. "I'd get a stomach ache? Yeah, I'll pass. Did you figure anything else out?"

Dylan drops his hand to Mitch's shoulder. "Uh. Does family drama count? Because Ryan has some 'splaining to do."

Mitch pats Dylan's knee, and if his hand just kind of stays there when he's done, well, whatever. "Tell me all about it."

"Okay so, it starts at World Juniors with a New Year's kiss..." Dylan says.

Mitch snuggles in like it's a bedtime story. Dylan adjusts them so they're... Mitch would call it spooning, honestly, but he refuses to believe that's what Dylan is consciously doing.

Dylan wraps an arm around him so Mitch can see the screen of his phone. If he keeps being this cuddly, Mitch thinks a little desperately, this is going to be a long two or three days. Not that it stops him from cuddling right back, of course. Mitch has never been one to look a gift-cuddle in the mouth.

-0-

Saying that Dylan isn't a morning person is really underselling it, but Mitch isn't complaining, not when Dylan finally blinks his eyes open and gives Mitch an adorably confused look in the morning. "How long've you been up?"

Mitch shrugs. "That really depends on the definition of up."

Dylan groans. "Too early. Don't make me define things."

Mitch prides himself on resisting the urge to make a joke about how Dylan's abs are pretty well defined all by themselves. "I've been looking at some of the Avs' social media accounts," he says instead, waving his iPhone at Dylan. "MacKinnon is not even close to the only queer dude on his team, wow."

Dylan laughs. "Okay, I know you look at the world through rainbow coloured glasses, but seriously?"

Mitch rolls his eyes and clicks on an Insta photo. "These two are dating," he says, putting his phone on the bed so Dylan doesn't have to lift his head off his pillow to see."

"That's official media. They have to play up how close they are," Dylan says.

"As if I only have one piece of evidence," Mitch says, swiping away from the colour-correcting glasses video and over to a candid shot of Jost and Compher with their arms around each other. "Look at this. Arms around each other like bros, cuddling all the way down. No 'no homo' breathing room."

"I used to do that all the time!" Dylan protests. Then he snaps his mouth shut, because duh, he proved Mitch's point.

There's no need to comment, so Mitch switches to Compher's account and finds the summer photos. "Behold," he says, handing his phone back to Dylan so he can swipe through them all.

Dylan beholds for an uncomfortably long time, and Mitch realises there's one tiny flaw in his plan: he just gave Dylan a page full of hot, shirtless dudes enjoying the summer.

"Okay," Dylan says, finally looking back up at Mitch and badly hiding a grin. "I almost agree. Are there more pics?"

Mitch snorts. "Do you want some coffee? Because you seem thirsty."

Dylan grins at him, wide and easy, then rolls onto his back. Mitch quickly looks at his phone, because... yeah. Investigating, or something.

"Did we miss breakfast?" Dylan asks while Mitch is planning his next angle of attack.

"I mean, you did, but I went down and grabbed you some croissants and a yogurt," Mitch says. "There's a coffeepot in the bathroom. I'm actually shocked that the smell of me making some before didn't wake you up."

Dylan lies back and stares at the ceiling. "Guess I just slept really well. This bed must be magic."

"Maybe it's the rose petals," Mitch teases.

"Bedtime chocolate mints," Dylan says a little dreamily. "I'm getting a box of those for home. I never want to go to bed without bedtime chocolate mints ever again."

Mitch stares at the side of Dylan's face. "Same."

"Anyway, continue social media stalking the Avs, I guess," Dylan says. He's apparently oblivious to Mitch's crisis, because he throws back the blankets, and yes, okay, Dylan slept in boxers and nothing else last night, thanks for the reminder. "I'm gonna shower, and then we should figure out the rest of our day."

Mitch was within touching distance of _all that_ and he didn't ruin his business partnership. He's a fucking superhero. "Yeah," he says belatedly, well after Dylan has already rolled out of bed. "Shower. I'll figure us out. It out."

Dylan shuts the bathroom door, and Mitch flops back on the bed. This job is turning out to be a lot harder than he thought. He continues his adventure through various Avs social media accounts; there is definitely a third teammate wanting in on the Jost-and-Compher sandwich, not that Mitch can blame him. The entire team is one giant thirst trap. Mitch is just glad that Landeskog is safely in Sweden for the summer; he's pretty sure Dylan would actually lose his mind if they had to interview him, and Mitch would probably quietly self-destruct having to watch it. Dylan's feelings about athletes are deep and complicated, but Mitch is halfway convinced he mostly wants to put them on a pedestal so he doesn't have to get on his knees.

He's pulled out of his thought when Dylan opens the bathroom door. Mitch glances up and feels his mouth go dry; Dylan's got a towel wrapped around his hips and he's carrying a cup of coffee, and Mitch is probably going to embarrass himself, good god.

"Thanks for this," Dylan says, honest-to-god beaming.

Mitch is going to drown in that smile some day. "No problem," he says, managing somehow to sound like a normal human being. He looks back down at his phone and starts scrolling through Instagram again. There's honestly nothing but thirst photos, he thinks, until—

"Hey, whoa," he says out loud. "I might have something."

Dylan lets go of his towel and makes a grabby-hand motion for Mitch's phone.

Mitch throws it at him and rolls out of bed. "Shower," he yelps, then dashes into the bathroom and pulls the door shut behind him. He stares at himself in the mirror. "You just signed a new lease on the office," he tells himself. "If you fuck this up you'll be broke for the next two years."

His reflection is no help, honestly, so he sighs and pulls his shirt over his head. Hopefully a shower will help him calm his shit down.

-0-

One of the best things about his friendship with Dylan, Mitch reflects on the drive to Nate's an hour later, is that they've both been in so many weird situations, together and individually, that it's almost entirely indestructible. Dylan doesn't make Mitch's reaction weird, and Mitch is grateful enough about it that he actually lets Dylan choose their music. They're both singing at the top of their lungs, Mitch trying his best to drown out Dylan's tone-deafness, when they pull up at the house.

Jo buzzes them in, and it looks like he's struggling not to laugh. "You guys must love karaoke."

Dylan shakes his head. "Sadly, karaoke does not love us."

"That's a shame," Jo says. "So, any breakthroughs last night?"

"Actually, there's a witness I'd like to talk to," Mitch replies. "Someone who was there during the heist."

Jo's eyes widen a little. "Who? I thought it was just Phil, and he was sleeping."

One of Nate's dogs comes running up to them, and Mitch drops down to say hi. "What's your name, buddy?" he coos. "I wanna meet you before we talk about what you saw the other night."

"He was already named Dazzle before we adopted him," Jo says. "We tried, but he won't answer to anything else."

Dylan snorts. "Our buddy has a dog named Sprinkles," he volunteers. "Dogs, man."

Mitch ruffles the dog's fur. "Hi Dazzle. You're a good boy, aren't you?" He makes sure Dazzle gets his scent, so he won't go the wrong way when Mitch lets him out into the back yard. "Dylan, come here. Dazzle wants to share some of his sparkle magic."

"I'll stay over here, thanks," Dylan says. "I think if I get any more sparkle magic on me, I'll be my own Pride parade."

"Go get him, boy," Mitch commands.

Dazzle looks at him, then ambles over to Dylan, licking him on the hand.

Mitch beams. "See? He's trying to tell you something."

"He should tell you, probably," Dylan says, scratching Dazzle behind the ears. "I don't speak dog."

Mitch knee-walks over and puts his ear next to the dog's muzzle. Dazzle wastes no time licking his face. "Right," he announces. "There was someone here that Dazzle doesn't know too well. An American with an accent. Brunet? No, blond, that's blond, Dazzle, buddy." Mitch looks up and shakes his head. "You know how dogs are with colour."

Dazzle barks, like Mitch offended him.

"It's okay, buddy, I know you're trying your hardest," Mitch says. "Does that ring a bell, Jo? Anyone here by that description?"

Jo narrows his eyes. "Are you fucking with me?"

Mitch cocks his head a little. "Hanifin," he says. "Noel? Noah. Noah Hanifin was here, and Dazzle thought that was weird, because you guys aren't super close." At least not according to Instagram; apparently Hanifin, who's on the Oilers, played with Nate and Jo at the World Cup of Hockey in 2016, but they're not close enough to appear in each other's photos or mentions at all. Sam Girard had thought it was weird enough to point out that Hanifin was at the party, at least, so Mitch is rolling forward full steam ahead, because that has yet to fail him and surely never will.

Jo's entire face turns red. "Well. Nate has friends on the Avs. Y'know, _friends_. But my team isn't like that, so..."

"So you have to hang onto the ones who get where you're coming from," Dylan says softly.

"Sorry," Mitch says, trying for less accusatory and more gentle. "All I got was 'stranger.' Dogs aren't so good with nuance."

"Dogs don't get dragged into You Can Play," Dylan mutters.

"Anyway, yes," Jo says. "Hanny was here, but there's no way he stole the Cup. Mainly because I trust him, but also because he crashed on the sofa before Nate and I left, and he was still there when we got home, and the Cup was already gone by then."

Dazzle puts his paws up on Mitch's shoulders and whines in his face.

"Okay, that one I understand," Jo says. "He needs to take a leak." Jo leads them through the house, and lets Dazzle into the backyard.

"Sorry, boy," Jo says. "No going for walks with Nathan until your hip's all better."

Dazzle whines a little, but then he wanders off to do his business, and Mitch takes the opportunity to look around. He's only got the one photo of Hanifin to work off of, but there are plenty of photos of where the Cup was. He glances around again and takes a calculated guess at where there might be something to find as Dazzle wanders back over. He picks up a disgusting old tennis ball and hands it to Dazzle. "Look, it's a treasure! Who's a good boy?"

Dazzle looks thrilled, judging by the way he dodges when Mitch tries to wrestle the ball away from him again. He lopes off across the yard, and Mitch follows close behind to find out where Dazzle keeps his prize jewels. If someone unfamiliar was in the yard and left behind something Dazzle could sniff to his heart's content...

Sure enough, Dazzle pokes his head under one corner of the porch, where there's a gap in the privacy screen. There's something red in there, and when Mitch gets down on his hands and knees, he sees a familiar logo that has no business being anywhere near an Avs Stanley Cup party.

"So, correct me if I'm mistaken here," he says as he reaches in to pull the hat out, "but didn't the Red Wings just _lose_ the Cup?"

-0-

"Okay," Jo says. It's been about fifteen minutes since the discovery in the backyard, and he's finally got Noah Hanifin on speakerphone. "From the beginning, Hanny."

"I didn't know they were planning anything, I swear," Noah says. "Who the hell touches the Cup when they haven't won it?"

"People who don't care if they never do," Dylan says. "So who's the guy who just cursed his entire team?"

"Zach Werenski," Noah says without hesitation. 

Mitch can't help whistling. "As if the Coyotes needed to be _more_ cursed."

"I guess he figured he had nothing left to lose," Noah says. He laughs, but there's not much humour in it. "And you said there was a Red Wings cap, which means he brought his other half."

"Dylan Larkin," Nate asks, angrily petting one of his dogs. "How do we track them down?"

Mitch hums. The real answer is social media stalking, but that's not terribly psychic-y. "I'm gonna need the hat," he says. "And a quiet room where I can sit with it by myself for a little while. There might be a clue attached to it, but it's been long enough that I'll need time to track it down." He shifts a little. "We can just go back to the bed and breakfast, honestly. There's no reason that I need to do it here."

Dazzle makes the saddest face imaginable when he sees them take his prize half-chewed cap and head for the door.

"Don't worry, buddy, you can probably have it back when Mitch is done with it," Dylan says, scratching his head. "I doubt Larkin is going to want it back."

" _I_ don't want it back," Nate says darkly. "I don't want anything that jerk touched in my house. Except, like, the Cup, obviously."

Noah coughs really loudly. "I'm really sorry, guys."

"You're gonna make a nice donation to a charity of Mitch and Dylan's choice," Jo says. "As, like, karmic payback."

Noah doesn't even argue with him, which means Jo was right about them being closet besties. Huh.

"And you'll let us know if they contact you," Mitch adds.

"Absolutely," Noah says instantly. "I could give you guys Werenski's number, too. I mean, he probably won't answer an unknown number, but it might be worth you having it or something."

Mitch glances at the stormy look on Nate's face. It’s probably better if he doesn’t know how to call his new sworn enemy. "I think the spirits will lead me to them without you having to tell us Werenski's number."

"Okay, man, if you're sure," Noah says. "If I see either of them, like, post a photo of it on Twitter, I'll let you know, but other than that, I think my hands are tied here."

"Keep your kinks to yourself," Jo replies. Noah makes an outraged noise and then hangs up, and Jo laughs a little. "Revenge is mine!"

Nate's expression melts into something dangerously soft.

Mitch grabs Dylan by the arm and drags him away. "Okay, we'll get back to you when we have something, bye!"

Dylan is snickering by the time they get in the car. "What, you didn't want to stick around and see if you could pick anything else up?"

"Dyls, there is no way either of us was picking anything up in there." Except maybe a terrible case of relationship envy.

"That's quitter talk," Dylan says, laughing outright. "I'm sure they'd give you some pointers if you asked nicely."

"I'd have to have you ask for me, so they didn't think I was reading their minds," Mitch says sweetly. "Do you want to go back in?"

Dylan snorts and punches Mitch in the shoulder. "Someone's probably going back in already."

"Not it," Mitch says, starting the car. "So, have you found them on social media yet? Werenski and Larkin?"

"Wherever there's one, the other is the first comment," Dylan replies.

"Definitely them, then," Mitch says. "I don't suppose they've posted any super incriminating photos with location tagging turned on? No checking in on Facebook with their new friend Lord Stanley?"

Dylan shakes his head. "They aren't stupid enough to take a picture of the Cup, but Werenski put up an over-filtered shot of Cole Harbour an hour ago."

"So they're still here, which means the Cup is almost definitely still here," Mitch says. "That's good. Cole Harbour isn't that big, and if we keep an eye on social media, we can probably figure out where they went next. Probably by car, because the Stanley Cup would definitely set off metal detectors at the airport."

Dylan makes a disgusted face. "Did we really have to bring the cap with us? I think some squirrels had sex in it."

"Probably," Mitch says cheerily. "I vote when we find Larkin, we jam it on his head."

"Disgusting, but fair," Dylan replies. "Let's get lunch before you start working your psychic mojo."

"I'm all about lunch," Mitch says, nodding. "We can eat and check social media at the same time. It'll be like a working lunch."

"You just want to be able to claim food as a business expense," Dylan accuses.

"Every non-souvenir thing on this trip is already a business expense," Mitch shoots back. "I just don't want to have to speed in a rental car that might have a regulator on it if we wait until after lunch to look and find out they're suddenly on the way to Montreal."

Dylan leans back in his seat, and Mitch absolutely is not distracted by the line of his throat. "In that case, you're buying."

-0-

Mitch learns nothing from the totally-not-a-date lunch, except that he's still attracted to Dylan even when he's talking with his mouth full. There's no movement on any of the social media accounts they've been able to dig up, which either means that Werenski and Larkin haven't gone anywhere, or they've figured out that giving someone a way to find them is a dumb idea.

Dylan tries to cover a yawn as they climb the stairs back at the B & B. "So, how does a power nap sound? Maybe the hockey gods will appear to you in your dreams."

"That sounds a lot better than actually trying to commune with the squirrel sex hat," Mitch says, making a face. "I don't want to put it on my head."

"Yeah, I'd have to disown you if you wore that thing," Dylan teases.

Mitch snorts as he unlocks their room and walks in. "Since when do you own me in the first place?"

Something flashes in Dylan's eyes, but before Mitch can figure out what it is, Dylan turns away and flops onto the bed. "Less talking, more napping," he says. "We can figure out our next move after we get some sleep."

Sleep. Right. Mitch is just going to lie down next to Dylan again and be _very well rested_. He's definitely not going to spend the next however-long-they-lie-there talking himself out of cuddling up to Dylan and pretending he did it while sleeping when Dylan wakes up and asks. Mitch kicks off his shoes and lies down with his clothes on. 

"What are you—" Dylan starts, but he's cut off by a loud noise in the room next door. A rhythmic, thumping noise.

Mitch doesn't even turn his head, just raises his hand and gestures vaguely at the wall. "Psychic," he says, hiding his grin when Dylan whacks him.

"There's no way you saw that coming," Dylan replies.

"I'm just too tired to change," Mitch lies. "And chances are that someone is always just about to have sex. It's not us, so it makes sense that it's our neighbours."

Dylan facewashes him. "I can't believe you totally let me get away with that, and didn't even make a joke about seeing who's _coming_." He gets up off the bed and heads over to the window.

"I left the low-hanging fruit for you," Mitch says, waiting to see if Dylan actually takes the bait and makes some sort of joke about balls.

Dylan waggles his eyebrows. "Yours hang lower than mine, pipsqueak."

Mitch rolls his eyes. "Can you see into their room from here? Anything exciting happening, other than the obvious?"

The thumping gets louder and louder. Whoever their neighbours are, they don't care about denting the wall. Just as Dylan goes to shut the window, one of their neighbours yells, "Zach!"

Mitch sits up fast, looking at Dylan. "You don't think..."

"I think I can see something shiny!" Dylan says. He pushes the window open wider and leans out.

Someone in the next room says something, loud enough for Mitch to hear but not loud enough for him to make it out. The thumping gets faster, and Mitch debates whether or not it's a good idea to actually press his ear against the wall for a better shot at hearing as he watches Dylan lean farther and farther. "Dude, you're going to fall."

"What?" Dylan half-turns, and that's what sends him tumbling out the window.

"Shit," Mitch hisses, springing from the bed. The thumping noises stop, but as Mitch leans out to look, they start again.

Dylan is only about two feet below him, splayed on on the porch roof, and Mitch's heartbeat starts to slow back to a normal rate as he realises that Dylan's probably fine.

"Did you break your ass?" Mitch blurts out without thinking.

Dylan laughs. "No, that's what they're doing," he says, pointing to their neighbours' window. "Also, that's definitely them. I can see the Cup through the blinds from this angle."

Mitch climbs out the window so he can see for himself. "Dyls," he says quietly. "We did it! We found the Cup!"

"Now we just have to rescue it," Dylan says, staring at it. "It shouldn't have to see that."

Mitch snorts. "I'm sure it's seen people having sex before."

"Winners," Dylan says, frowning. "It's fine if it's winners, but Larkin _lost_. Werenski has never even made the playoffs. That's disrespectful."

There's a loud groan from one of the two losers.

"Think they'd notice if I snuck in through the window?" Mitch asks. "I have my sneaky feet on."

"It's right inside," Dylan says. "If we can get the window open without them noticing, then you should be able to just reach in and grab it."

Mitch bites his lip. Now is not the time for a reach-around joke.

"I'll go downstairs," Dylan adds. "You get it out of the room, and I'll be waiting down there to catch it. We can get it in the car and then call Nate and Jo once we have it secured."

"Good plan," Mitch replies, even though he's slightly disappointed Dylan isn't going to, like, rappel down the side of the building. It would be super cool, but they probably don't have the right equipment for it right now. Mitch makes a mental note to see if that's something they can requisition from the police force once they're back in Toronto.

Mitch tests the window to make sure it's unlocked, and then he sits on the porch roof, wiggling his toes in the sunshine, until Dylan texts him that he's in position. Sure enough, when Mitch peeks over the edge, Dylan gives him a thumbs up, which means it's go time.

Mitch eases the window open, waiting a minute to see if the American thieves have noticed anything, but Werenski must be pacing himself pretty well. Mitch almost gives him mental points for it, but he _did_ help his boyfriend steal the Stanley Cup, so he doesn't actually deserve it. He gives the points to the landlady instead for treating the windows so they don't squeak.

The Cup is surprisingly heavy, and Mitch has to twist awkwardly to get a decent grip on it. Ugh, it's like he's physically incapable of not making sex-jokes in his head. He gives himself a pass, just this once, because he's in the middle of solving a pretty important case. Also, there's literal sex going on about ten feet from him and they don't even know he's there, so maybe that's the cosmic sex joke right now.

Mitch manages to get the Cup through the window, and he's almost home free. Unfortunately it's a thousand degrees out here, and he's been sweating in it while he waited for Dylan. His foot slips, he drops the Cup, and it rolls off the roof before he can stop it. "Heads up, Dyl!"

 

The sex noises stop abruptly, and Mitch scoots over the edge of the roof.

"There's a dent," Dylan says when Mitch rolls out of the bushes. "A _dent_. In the _Stanley Cup_." He sounds like someone hacked it into pieces.

"It was probably there already," Mitch says as he scrambles to his feet. "Who knows what kinky sex games they played with it?"

Dylan makes a face, but he doesn't drop it. "Now what?"

"Hey," someone shouts, and Mitch looks up to see Dylan Larkin's very naked chest leaning over the edge of the roof. "What the fuck are you doing? Give that back! It's not yours!"

"It's not yours either!" Mitch yells back. Then he hisses, "Go go go, let's get out of here," to Dylan. Strome. The love of his loins.

"Zach," Larkin yells back over his shoulder. "They're stealing it! You're more dressed than me! Go!"

"Start the fucking car, Mitch," Dylan hisses back. "I'm right behind you."

-0-

"There's a dent," Phil says, for the fourth time since they brought the Cup back.

"I know, buddy," Mitch says, patting Phil on the shoulder. "I'm just glad we got it away from them before they did something worse."

Phil gestures helplessly at the dent, like he still can't believe his eyes. "Worse than _that_?"

"At least they didn't drop it in the harbour," Dylan replies. He's surprisingly grouchy for someone who just rescued the Stanley freaking Cup from the clutches of evil Americans.

"Or, like, hack it into pieces," Mitch adds. "It's intact, Phil. It can be fixed, and you have it back. Congratulations!"

"I still can't believe they touched it," Jo says, from his safe vantage point halfway across the room.

Dylan flinches, and the pieces click for Mitch.

Nate pats the Cup with one hand and Dazzle with the other. "Yeah, I went to Sid's Cup party a bunch of times and I barely wanted to be in the same room."

The second dog nudges Dylan's hand, pretty much begging him to be happy.

"This dog is jealous of all the attention the Cup is getting," Mitch says loudly. "Dylan and I will take him out back so he doesn't have to deal with all his doggy emotions. C'mon, Dyls."

"Thanks, dog whisperer." Jo salutes them as they pass by, but he stays in the safe zone.

Dylan doesn't say anything as he follows Mitch and the other dog, whose name Mitch definitely doesn't know, into the backyard.

"My powers are telling me you need to hug this dog," Mitch says.

"Sure," Dylan replies, "as long as it's not named Stanley."

Mitch bends down to check for a name tag.

"Robert," he reads off the tag. "Seriously? Who names a dog Robert?"

Dylan drops to his knees. "Don't listen to him, Robert. You're a good boy."

"So are you," Mitch says, ruffling Dylan's hair.

Dylan sighs and leans his head against Mitch's thigh. "I just... I knew I was never gonna win it, you know? I quit, I moved on, but part of me hoped..." He sighs again. "But I touched it, so now I definitely won't ever win it, but Nate and Jo did and they're gay too, and it's all just... in my head."

"Well, there's stuff we get to have that they don't," Mitch says gently.

Dylan huffs a little. "We can be gay in public," he says in a monotone. "That's really helping me out, me and my... oh wait, right, the guy I'm into hasn't noticed me hurling myself at him for the past three years. Or, more likely, he's pretending not to know so he doesn't have to openly hurt my feelings."

Wow, Dylan is so sad he's making Mitch depressed too. He sits down and scritches behind Robert's ears. "No-one ever worries about my feelings." His exes have all been brutally honest about why they're dumping him.

Dylan laughs a little. "Everyone loves you, though. Everyone."

"Yeah, right." Mitch pastes on a smile, and decides to rip the band-aid off. "Everyone but you."

It makes Dylan turn and stare at him. "What?"

"I get it," Mitch says. "I'm a mess and—"

Dylan's eyes are so, so wide as he cups Mitch's face gently in his hand and leans in to kiss him.

Mitch goes with it, because he's a certified genius. But when Dylan pulls back he can't help blurting out, "You _do_ like me!"

Dylan laughs. "Uh, yeah. What gave it away?"

"I mean," Mitch says. He doesn't bother to fight the smile stretching across his face. "I thought maybe I was projecting. I've been into you for forever."

Dylan laces their fingers together. "Define 'forever.' Because right now it looks like I figured this out before you did."

"Oh fuck you, I put up with an entire summer of 'Connor just looks so good in his patrol uniform.'" Mitch squeezes Dylan's hand, though; no takesies-backsies.

"Right, your summer of serial monogamy," Dylan says. "Where I was hoping I could maybe make you jealous enough to give me a try, since you were burning through guys left and right."

Mitch laughs. "I kept getting dumped because every time I introduced one of them to you, they could see my heart eyes and figured I was actually way less available than I thought I was."

Dylan smacks himself in the forehead with his free hand. "We are the dumbest smart people."

"We got here eventually, though," Mitch says confidently. "Like, I'm here, you're here, we're both on the same page, right?"

Robert whuffs and wriggles between them.

"Robert believes in us," Mitch says without missing a beat. "We can't disappoint Robert, Dyls."

"You realise I'm the one person who knows you're not actually a dog whisperer," Dylan says, but he leans in for another kiss. Mitch curls a hand around the back of Dylan's neck, just in case he gets any ideas about pulling away before Mitch is good and ready for him to.

-0-

The joint Cup party between Barrie, Kerfoot, and Hammond is truly a thing to behold. Dylan and Mitch are the guests of honour, at the insistence of pretty much everyone on the Avs. The Tysons have eerily similar glares, Mitch notes as Nate arrives; he's definitely _not_ a guest of honour.

Phil the Cup keeper still looks like a nervous wreck. The Cup is in pristine shape again, though. Mitch had totally been right about the dent being fixable.

Dylan comes over with a beer in his hand, pressing close despite the humidity. "Be honest," Mitch says, "where does this rank in your top five first dates?"

"I mean, nobody else bothered to get the Stanley Cup for a first date before," Dylan says. "That makes it at least top ten."

Mitch elbows him in the ribs and steals his beer.

"Top five?" Dylan says, grinning and not fighting Mitch on the beer. "Fine. Top three."

Mitch kisses him, in front of everybody. "Top one."

"Fine, whatever," Dylan says, but he's smiling hard enough that kissing him again gets a little ridiculous.

When Mitch pulls back for the sake of public decency, he catches Kerfoot staring at them. "Hey," he says to Dylan, holding the beer out. "I changed my mind. You can have this, and I'm gonna go talk to a hockey player."

"That is not a fair trade at all," Dylan protests.

"There are plenty of hockey players here for you to choose from," Mitch teases.

" _And_ I have a beer," Dylan says, brightening up. "Fine. I'm gonna go find Hammond and see how crazy goalies actually are."

Mitch waits until he's a couple feet away and then yells, "Wear protection!" He doesn't have to look to know Dylan is rolling his eyes really hard. Mitch snags a couple more drinks and sidles up to Kerfoot. "Hi! I'm the reason this party is still happening."

Kerfoot jumps a little. "The psychic dude, right? Nice to meet you. And, like, thanks. You did us such a solid."

"If you're looking to be the third in an objectively awesome couple, I know a guy who flew all the way up from Michigan just to see you," Mitch says quietly, subtle as a brick.

This time Kerfoot jumps a lot. "What the hell?"

"Dude, it's your day with the Cup," Mitch says. "Carpe hockey players."

"I can't just," Kerfoot starts, glancing over Mitch's shoulder. He has no idea if it's Compher or Jost he's looking at, but it doesn't matter at this point.

Mitch taps his forehead. "I'm not guessing, dude."

Kerfoot just narrows his eyes, the poor little skeptic.

"Okay, go with me for a minute," Mitch says. He waits for Kerfoot to nod, and then throws an arm around him. When he leans in and whispers, "They're totally jealous right now," Kerfoot blushes.

"You can do this," Mitch encourages, still whispering. Whatever; Dylan knows his plan here, if not his exact play, and Mitch is all about playing up the jealousy. "You _should_ do this. Be happy, man."

"Hey, the psychic gets a hug but I don't?" someone complains.

Mitch steps back and faces the almost-glare of Tyson Jost; he's too cute to pull off a truly mean face, unless it's directed at the teammate who lost the Cup. Compher is two steps behind him.

"The psychic rescued the Stanley Cup, and you didn't even know it was in trouble," Kerfoot says. He doesn't shrug out from under Mitch's arm, and Mitch doesn't have to be actually psychic to know that he's incredibly nervous right now. "Have you done something lately that's hug-worthy?"

Compher steps forward. "I can think of a couple things."

Yeah, yup, that's Mitch's cue to be literally anywhere else. "It was nice meeting you," he says to Kerfoot, squeezing his shoulders just for the way it makes Jost glare a little harder before stepping away. "Keep what I said in mind, eh?"

"I definitely will," Kerfoot replies, looking a little dazed.

Mitch nods, then makes a point of making eye contact with Compher, then Jost. He laughs. "Yeah, you're all good here," he says, and then he turns and walks back towards where he left Dylan.

Dylan's looking at his phone and laughing his ass off. "Do I want to know?" Mitch asks.

"Maybe," Dylan counters, smiling at Mitch. "How'd Operation Threesome go?"

Mitch snorts. "Don't be surprised if the Cup has another dent tomorrow."

"They won it, they're allowed to have sex in front of it," Dylan says, pocketing his phone.

Mitch crowds close and tries to steal it back out of Dylan's pocket.

"It's just my brother being a loser," Dylan says, laughing as he catches Mitch's wrist. He smoothly transitions it into a hand hold, and seriously, when the hell did he get moves?

Mitch narrows his eyes, and holds up their joined hands. "You've been holding out on me."

"And now I'm holding onto you," Dylan says, grinning at him. "For a while, probably."

"Dad joke," Mitch says, but he kisses him anyway. He's gonna hold onto Dylan just as hard, and for twice as long. Just because he loves the guy doesn't man he's not still competitive. And hey, holding onto Dylan sounds pretty good, all told.


	2. Chapter 2: Podfic

**[[Download](https://t.co/B9fVDn3iBZ)]**

**Size:** 70MB

 **Length:** 1:16:15

ft. the song "I Know, You Know" by The Friendly Indians

Podficcer's notes: thank you to somehowunbroken and ariadne83 for the wonderful fic, the mods for running an excellent HBB, the person who put on headphones and made very little noise so I could record this in our shared studio apartment, and Lemon Ginger Tea/cough drops for getting me through the final stretch. 

**Author's Note:**

> AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVERY AFTER.


End file.
